Beautiful and Permanent
by elle.writes
Summary: All his life Bruce had only wanted to be permanent, he had only wanted things to stay the same. Even if things were bad, as long as they were the same, they couldn't get any worse. But, as he stared up at the sky he figured – nothing beautiful in this life was ever permanent.
1. Ocean

**Beautiful and Permanent**

Pairings/Warnings: Tony/Bruce, implied Tony/Pepper/Bruce, mentioned Bruce/Betty and Bruce/Natasha, canon compliant timeline, mild AOU spoilers, a kind of AOU "fix," explicit language, sexually explicit situations, recreational drug use

Notes: Written for Science Bros Week 2015. Chapters are short because they are based on prompts. Chapter titles are named after the prompt. Essentially a spewing of my headcanon for how Tony and Bruce's relationship would fit in canon. This is pretty freeform and not the way I would normally write a multi-chapter fic, but I really needed to do something different for a minute. Apologies.

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1: Ocean

Bruce curled his toes in the sand, the warmth of the sun fading quickly against the coast. The surf tumbled away from his feet as they sunk into the cold, grainy putty beneath them. He had been here for almost a year now and yet it had hardly seemed that long at all, but the skyline at sunset was imbedded in his memory. Red, purple, orange streaked across the sky, gorgeous and indefinite. It made him feel very small, very broken.

All his life Bruce had only wanted to be permanent, he had only wanted things to stay the same. Even if things were bad, as long as they were the same, they couldn't get any worse. But, as he stared up at the sky he figured – nothing beautiful in this life was ever permanent. Not his mother, not Betty or Natasha, not his stint as an Avenger.

Now Bruce was never beautiful and he knew that. Not like the sunset or like Betty. If he had been beautiful, his life would have been very different. Yet still he tried to hold on to beautiful things. That which was broken was like looking into a very painful mirror and he didn't have the guts – fuck. There were a lot of reasons he crashed the Quinjet into the ocean but really? He was tired of holding on and he was scared to let go and he was done. It was too much to be an Avenger. It was too much to be beautiful.

And now?

He breathed out with the ocean, trying to let the stress go, let it roll away with the seafoam. Bruce knew he would be found, sooner or later. Figured Tony had probably waited a good three months before he had given up and came out here himself. And he hadn't really said anything – for once. Hadn't made any demands, hadn't attempted to get him to follow along in some grand scheme of how his life could be if only he would sign on whatever dotted line Tony was offering.

It was hard, with Tony. Because Tony was broken too and with Tony it was all right there, right there on the surface. The cracks defining him were visible in the smile he faked, in the self-important way he held himself, in the way he pretended that he mattered. And maybe that was why he always capitulated when it came to Tony – because he knew. Because he saw that fear and he knew that fear. Maybe he couldn't stop it within himself, but he could try to make it better for Tony… right?

No. He knew better now.

Bruce forced himself to keep his eyes on the skyline as the wind tugged at his hair. It had taken him a year but he forgave himself his ignorance. The fact was – he couldn't. He couldn't fix Tony any more than he could fix Natasha. Any more than he could fix himself.

Damn. It hurt to admit it but, when then he'd let himself admit it, it did feel good to accept it. And for the first time in how many years the Hulk was calm within him. His alter ego was finally accepted, was finally a whole, fundamental piece of who he was.

"Sunset looks good on this side of the world," Tony said, standing near him but clearly trying not to be too intrusive. "Couldn't blame ya if you stayed."

Bruce didn't look at him, though his lips tightened for a moment, considering it. It was beautiful here – beautiful in a tangible way he wasn't used to. And it was quiet, peaceful. Easy. The loudest noise was from inside his own head and he had gotten used to it. But then he knew – that wasn't how we were meant to live. Humanity was a mess but there was a certain beauty in that too, wasn't there? The goal was to find it, appreciate it. He knew that and yet…

"No more avenging?" Bruce asked without turning his head – somewhat skeptical even though it was the first thing Tony had said when Bruce slammed open the little door to his boat with a scowl.

"No more avenging," Tony confirmed, his voice seeming uncharacteristically light.

Finally Bruce turned a sidelong glance towards the other man, a man he had once considered his best friend, a man he loved. He looked… happy. Relaxed. It was a rare thing to see. For most of his life Bruce had been relatively unconcerned with people but ever since the accident he had gotten pretty good at reading them. And despite the cracks on the surface, Tony was always particularly difficult to read. He buried himself in layer upon layer of formality and show and distraction so that no one could really see him and now… it was gone.

Bruce narrowed his eyes a little, watching the lazy grin on Tony's face as he stared out towards the setting sun. It was like he was looking right through him, through the cracks and for once it wasn't painful, it wasn't hard. Because Tony wasn't trying to hide any more and maybe – neither was he.

It took a moment before he realized that Tony was looking back at him, wide open and completely exposed. And Bruce could tell – he'd gained weight, the gray in his hair was visible, and his smile was genuine. Whatever had happened to him in the past year, after Ultron, it had changed him. For the better.

"Not sure I can do New York again," Bruce admitted as he rubbed at the back of his neck, a little embarrassed by that. But there were so many memories…

"Doesn't have to be New York," Tony promised and Bruce looked back out across the ocean.

Maybe it wasn't the right decision – Bruce was pretty good at making bad decisions and only time would ever tell. But as the sky grew darker he knew… there was only so much time to experience something beautiful.

When he turned back to Tony he had his hand outstretched towards him, waiting, patiently. There was no pressure, now, none of the manipulation Tony could be guilty of – just an offer. Bruce knew he could just as easily stand there, unmoving, and reject it. That Tony would leave and he wouldn't tell anyone where Bruce was and he could stay here forever. But… sometimes he and Tony made something good together.

And so he reached back for Tony's hand, pulling his feet from the heavy sand and stepping towards his friend, letting their palms meet. Because he knew the spaces between their fingers where they fit together, could overlap, fill the cracks, and piece the broken parts together to create something beautiful.


	2. Listen

2: Listen

"So – what's next for the good doctor?"

Bruce blinked. Stared at the billionaire he'd met less than 48 hours ago and tried to process what the hell he was talking about.

He was exhausted. At least he wasn't hungry any more but he needed to sleep that shit off for a good day and a half and the only thing he wanted to talk to Tony about was valium and a place to crash before he booked a flight back to Calcutta.

It was kind of a dick move, really. He could glance out the window and see the destruction he'd had a hand in causing and it made him sick but this? Tony? Sitting around a table eating shawarma with a team? What the fuck was he doing?

"You can be part of the restoration," Tony was saying, gesturing to the window that he obviously saw him staring at. "S.I. will pay for all this, you know, but a few guest appearances never hurts."

Bruce still didn't say anything. What was Tony talking about? This wasn't – what? Really? New York?

"No I – Calcutta," he finally managed, turning tired eyes back to the other man, brain so thick with foggy fatigue that he almost missed Tony's disappointed little frown. Just a tick, a moment, but there none the less.

"Come on – you know you liked my toys," Tony joked, raising his eyebrows a couple times in some weird gesture that Bruce figured was supposed to be enticing but Bruce just saw it for what it was – a way to protect himself from disappointment.

It was hard because Tony… He hadn't felt like that around anyone in, well. Ever? That instant connection, that harmonious vibe, that unspoken understanding and he hadn't had a chance to think about it or process it or realize how truly strange it was. Even with Betty it took time and she didn't really understand him but now? No one ever made jokes about the Hulk. No one was ever that comfortable with him, not when they knew what was lurking underneath. And yeah, he hadn't questioned it yet, because he didn't really have the time but – he would. And when he did it wouldn't hold up under his unwavering scrutiny.

"I don't belong here," he turned back to the window, watching dust swirl and people tentatively gather in the streets to survey the damage.

Tony snorted. "You belong in a lab. You might not want to be in one, but you belong there as much as you belong anywhere."

Bruce frowned, chewing the inside of his cheek. Figured it wasn't very bright to expect Tony to do the noble thing and let his self-deprecation and bad excuses go.

But "belong" was a word he struggled with: the implication of permanence, a thing he wasn't allowed. Permanence was a liability, permanence could get people hurt – not least of which himself. Because the fact was that he wasn't really welcome anywhere long term. Eventually he'd be asked to leave. Nothing was permanent for Bruce but the lack of it.

"Maybe," Bruce said, but the off-handed way he said it made it clear that it was just a platitude.

He was sure Tony would be disappointed, as disappointed as Bruce would be, because it was hard to deny that the kind of energy they had between them. But it would be easier, in the long run. For both of them.

"And you belong on the team."

Tony wasn't looking at him any more, was looking off towards Steve talking to people outside the window, towards Natasha worrying over some ripped part of Clint's uniform as they headed towards the door to the SHIELD vehicle's outside, towards Thor regaling the restaurant owner at the front desk with god only knew what kind of embellished story.

Team? There was something about Tony using that word that made it feel inevitable. No one said it, not until then, but the feeling was there, he knew it. But he was too tired for the panic to set in and, as horribly redundant as this was, it was… strange. He almost started laughing but he was afraid if he started he would become hysterical and he wouldn't stop. This whole thing was ridiculous – this conversation, the concept of the six of them as a "team," aliens crossing dimensions to fuck up New York City – surely he had finally lost his mind.

"Listen, you don't have to stay," Tony was saying now but Bruce was still reeling. "Just, come back for a month, help oversee the restoration efforts, rejoin civilized society for thirty days and reevaluate."

New York City? God what a terrible idea. Just… People? Buildings? Subways? What? Why was he actually considering this?

"Are you listening to me?"

He looked over at Tony, his face all serious, smudged with dirt and tired, too, clearly a little bit pissed Bruce hadn't responded to the invite to his little group sleepover.

The thought was so preposterous that laughter bubbled up and spilled over out of his mouth before he could stop it. It was hard and painful and he lay his head in his arms on the table, muffling it as his shoulders shook – but it felt good too. It had been a long time since he had laughed like that.

When he finally calmed down enough to lift his head and wipe the tears from his eyes Tony was looking at him with satisfaction that wasn't even the slightest bit veiled.

"So I'll take that as a yes, then?"

Bruce was shaking his head, he was sure of it. "I just need a place to sleep for a few hours. And some valium."

"I got a place." Then Tony smirked and for some reason, although Bruce knew it shouldn't, it felt safe. "And way better shit than valium."


	3. Darkness

3: Darkness  
(inspired by the song _Lay me Down_ by Sam Smith)

Bruce's suite was gorgeous. Well, strictly speaking, every suite in the tower was gorgeous, Tony ensured that – especially for his friends – but Bruce's bedroom had the big floor to ceiling windows characteristic of the tower that ran the length of the room and overlooked the city. At night it seemed like all of New York City shone through it, the lights from the multitude of skyscrapers creating a gorgeous skyline across the entire room, filling it with a veritable rainbow of light.

Tonight was no exception.

Tony stood in the doorway, taking a moment to study the windows as he gathered his thoughts. He'd had plenty of time to figure out what he was going to say since JARVIS informed him that Bruce had returned from his sudden week-long disappearance, but still – Tony was coming up short.

He bided his time, gave Bruce his space, waited for Bruce to come talk to him… only minimally relying on JARVIS to report his condition. But when Bruce didn't join them for lunch or dinner, didn't even request any food be brought to him, Tony started to grow more concerned.

Over the six months since Loki's city-wide alien wormhole party, Tony had been careful not to think of Bruce as any kind of permanent fixture in the newly remodeled Avengers' tower. Despite constantly reminding himself that Bruce was a flight risk, Tony still grew to expect his presence at breakfast, in the lab, lunch, dinner, really – they were together most of the time. Tony had almost never had a friend like that before – someone that could put up with him like that, someone on the same page as him. Someone he didn't have to constantly explain himself to, someone who could teach him something. And he thought…

Bruce was laying in bed, as JARVIS had informed Tony that he had been for hours without sleeping. His back was facing Tony but he could tell Bruce was still dressed, he wasn't under the covers, and he didn't even flinch when Tony opened the door. Tony had no idea where he'd been, but it didn't matter. It was obvious that whatever demons plagued his mind had completely taken over.

It hurt. Tony had thought that Bruce was finally starting to relax, here. He used the facilities available to him without apologizing or thanking him, as if they were his. He began personal experiments without asking permission. He began writing for journals again, though he said he wasn't going to try to publish. He… laughed. He smiled more, cracked dry jokes with that sly little grin. Tony thought…

If there was one thing Tony prided himself for it was being there for his few friends when they really needed him. Sure, he was easily distracted and a little self obsessed, but there weren't many people in the world who showed him genuine kindness and he made sure that didn't go unappreciated. When push came to shove, he was there.

And he had failed.

Fuck – he didn't even know anything was wrong with Bruce. He clenched his teeth, anger and embarrassment warring in his gut. This brilliant, beautiful man had been suffering in silence and he didn't even see it. Not until now.

He took a tentative step forward, hoping that Bruce's entire time here hadn't been an elaborate act designed to fool everyone into believing he was okay. Because whether he believed it or not, everyone adored him. And Tony wasn't ready to believe the quiet way he had slowly won them all over was an act.

Bruce didn't move as Tony approached the bed, looking down on him with a fondness that made his chest feel tight. Tony couldn't see his face, and he was sure Bruce was miserable, and none of that was good, he didn't like and he wasn't relishing in it but – he hated himself but… he was glad to see him again. He was glad Bruce was back.

"Can I…?" Tony asked, his voice hardly more than a soft exhale but it still sounded so big in the silence. "Can I lay next to you?"

Still, Bruce didn't move. Tony heard a little, shaky intake of breath that betrayed the fact that Bruce was crying and Tony ached, physically ached in a way he hadn't in a long time to see him hurting this way. And Bruce still wouldn't ask, still wouldn't reach out to him.

Tony sat down on the bed, motioning to have the windows dimmed as he shifted his weight towards Bruce, giving him plenty of space to say no, to tell him to leave. But he didn't think Bruce wanted that – he thought he just didn't know how to say yes, to accept any more kindness, even from him.

Carefully he reached out, placed a hand on Bruce's arm. He was cold and it was like the touch barely registered. Up close, like this, he could tell how uneven his breathing was from crying but still Tony hardly heard it. How could he have learned to cry so silently?

Moving slowly Tony lay down on the bed next to him, drawing Bruce's back up against his chest, so close the light from his arc reactor was nearly snuffed out into darkness. With sure fingers he stroked through the curls of Bruce's hair, pressing his face into it, nose at the nape of his neck. Bruce started to shake, body drawn tight with inescapable sadness, and Tony didn't shush him, didn't tell him it was okay. What Bruce had been through in his life? Whatever happened to cause this? It would never be okay – never. Tony understood that as well as anyone.

"I'll take care of you," he whispered into Bruce's neck, an oath he didn't intend to break. "I'll take care of you."

And finally a shuddering sob escaped Bruce's chest, wracking his body with painful fits and still Tony held him, wrapped him up tight in his arms so that he knew he was there, that he wasn't leaving just because it got ugly. And into the darkness he promised again –

"I'll take care of you."


	4. Free Fall

4: Free Fall

Bruce hated the sensation of falling. Since the accident he had fallen out of and into buildings, off the side of mountains, from a fucking a plane – but that wasn't why he didn't like it.

He was six the first time he ever really thought he was going to die. His father shoved him off a two story deck and though it was only a short fall, it felt like forever and that feeling stayed with him for a long time, intrinsically linked with parental betrayal, with lovelessness, with fear. He knew in some vague way that he couldn't articulate, that that was the worst part of every fall he'd ever taken since the Hulk. It wasn't necessarily the fall itself – it was that the fall brought back so many memories that at this point in his life he would rather just put behind him.

But when he fell for Tony, he didn't even feel his feet leave the ground.

The night he'd realized was just like any other night, nothing special. They were on the rec room couch, side by side as usual, but no one else was with them tonight. Not particularly uncommon, they had places to be. Bruce was practically a prisoner in the tower thanks to his wanted status and Tony stayed with him a lot because why not? They always had something to talk about.

Tonight was no exception. Tony had a projection pulled up, rambling on about some notion he figured out after months of chewing it over in the back of his brain and Bruce was hardly listening as he flipped through a book he'd read several times before. It was relaxing to listen to the sound of Tony's voice, skimming pages full of familiar imagery, in a place that was home to him now, a place that was safe.

Occasionally he would look up at Tony, watch him as he talked, looking at his graphs and gesturing for all the world, like it didn't even matter if Bruce was there or not. And everything he was saying in this relatively routine and mundane ramble could've been recorded and stuck in an MIT lecture hall and kids would have paid good money for it. The thought made him chuckle. Living here, with Tony, was so surreal in comparison to the past few years of his life on the run, or ever his life at the university. It was unbelievable.

But then Tony's warm brown eyes were looking at him and it was like…

"Are you laughing at me?"

Bruce watched the way his eyebrows furrowed in mock offense that was a little too close to the real thing, watched the way his mouth dipped down but then curled at the end, a particular expression he knew so well but which only Tony seemed capable of making.

Then he really was laughing because it was preposterous, so absolutely ridiculous that he couldn't believe he was even entertaining the notion in his brain but Tony was right there, like he'd always been, like he always would be. The only person to stand beside him since Betty, the only one who truly cared. Maybe it was inevitable. Maybe Bruce was just a masochist.

"Hey?" Tony asked, becoming concerned, but when he fell silent and they were forced to just stare at one another, it was worse. In that quiet, the stillness between them, Bruce realized something he had known all along – Tony was beautiful.

And when Tony kissed him, it was gentle and sure, lips pressed to lips, an acknowledgement – like he had just been waiting for Bruce to get there too. But there was no judgement and there was no rush – and when Bruce opened his mouth, Tony pressed in, and then it was too late.

He was falling, falling fast and hard, a headfirst tumble that had Tony's hands in his hair and his own hands everywhere and god, he was scared. There was – there was rejection in the brief little moments Tony's lips left his and there was the Hulk in his pulse and – and there was _Pepper_ and there were just so many things, _so many things_ that could go _wrong_.

Tony straddled his hips and Bruce grasped at Tony's shirt sleeves, twisting them in his hands, sudden need, desire, _panic_ overwhelming him. But Tony's kisses were persistent little hushes on his lips and he didn't budge, didn't speed up, just cupped his face with warm and rough palms, moving slowly, savoring every moment. In reply Bruce's fingers slackened, his tension ebbed, and it was – it was _pleasurable_. It wasn't the despair of futile lust that forced to go unfulfilled. It was patient and thorough and calm and…

His fingers reached for the back of Tony's thighs instead to pull him closer as Tony's hips pressed down into his and he gasped. He could feel Tony smile as he kissed him and rocked his hips a little more and _damn_ – it felt _good_. And Tony was so slow and so methodical, the way he moved his body so deliberately, that Bruce was approaching the edge and he didn't even realize it.

What kind of idiot was he? Prior to that moment Bruce had thought he couldn't have sex, not since the accident. He'd thought that sex was like unrestrained fear, like crashing down a flight of stairs and he was always reaching, reaching, _reaching_ but he could never find the purchase to save himself. But now? Tony was so… different, different than Betty ever had been. Tony was confident and calm and centered and so focused on him. There was no need for desperation or guilt. There was just something about Tony and he realized that, just like always, Tony would take care of him. Tony would take care of him.

It was liberating and exhilarating and strange – how calm he felt beneath him, how safe. And as Tony's hands reached for him, Bruce let them, let him touch him in a way he hadn't been touched in years, in a way he thought he'd never be touched again. And when he fell all too easily over the edge, he breathed out a nervous little whisper in the final moment, fear overtaking him in the free fall –

" _Catch_ me."

And Tony did, wrapping him up in his arms and holding him tightly, planting kisses across his face, into his damp, sweaty hair, down his neck. Tender little kisses, each one a silent reply –

I will.

I will.

I _will_.


	5. Artificial

5: Artificial

For years now Tony had used the weight of the arc reactor in his chest to remind him of who he was: where he was from – the ashes of an empire built by the man who gave him his last name and painted it across bombs and bullets – and what he could become – a phoenix on fire carrying a beacon of light and hope. It was a little self-indulgent – well, a lot self-indulgent – but it was how he remembered, how he coped. Sometimes, it was all he could do to cope.

It felt like fucking hell itself was burning through the core of his being though and he didn't regret it, he didn't think finally having it removed was bad call, it was never _meant_ to be a permanent solution anyway, but still the panic began trickling in as he sat alone in the darkness of the lab on the night before the surgery. His chest always felt tight – always, ever since lodging an arc reactor in it – but at times like this it was unbearable, suffocating.

Tony had left Pepper and Rhodey upstairs after dinner, begging off early because he "needed his sleep" before surgery and while they probably didn't believe him, they still let him leave, likely thinking he was only going upstairs to Bruce. But he bypassed Bruce reading in the bedroom for the privacy and darkness of the lab.

He needed to be alone – he didn't want anyone to see him like this.

Sweat beaded on his brow as he struggled to breathe. Tony fucking _hated_ this. He wondered if it would ever go away. It was like drowning and there was nothing he could do. He wanted to save himself – he always saved himself, one way or another – but he couldn't. He _couldn't_.

What was it the doctor said? Count to four and breathe out? His hands were shaking and four felt like an eternity and god maybe if he could just stop looking at graphs and data and just… And just –

Tony didn't hear the door open, didn't hear the footsteps as he entered the room, only the blood rushing in his ears, a siren screaming in the silence of space.

But then there was another voice, cutting through the white noise –

"Breathe."

– warmth where the vacuum was before, holding him, compressing him –

"Breathe."

– and he wasn't alone anymore. And on the next beat it came again –

"Breathe."

– rhythmic and easy, easier than doing it alone, easier with someone else to help him.

He breathed in the smell of Bruce's skin as he pressed his face into the comfort of his hand. Bruce's arms encircled him from behind, one hand on one side of his face, his mouth on the other, near his ear so that Bruce's own breathing slowly drowned out the deafening static in Tony's head. His body always shook worse as he came down and he hated it, heated the lack of control, hated that anyone would see it – he was supposed to be _better than this_ – but Bruce only held him, whispering after every fourth beat.

"Okay?" Bruce asked at last when Tony's breathing had evened out – though he clearly hesitated to remove his arms.

Tony didn't answer, instead he just pulled Bruce's arms down. Pulled his arms down and swiveled the chair around to wrap his arms around his waist and lay his head against Bruce's stomach. Lay his head on his stomach and feel Bruce run his hands through through his hair and down his neck, rubbing his back.

"It'll be okay," he offered and Tony sighed into his stomach, closing his eyes and shaking his head slowly. "You have the best doctors in the world."

It was terrible to listen to Bruce say that, though there was no malice in his tone. But just the fact that he could say it, that he could hold him and discuss this – fixing him, fixing his heart – when there was no fix for Bruce. And he actually wanted one.

"You're making a good choice," he continued, voice calm and meant to be soothing but he felt his insides twist, anxiety returning when he knew the truth. "Pepper and Rhodey will be there. You'll be fine."

"It's not," he started but the words choked him on the way out and he squeezed his eyes shut tighter.

"Hey," Bruce said, bringing his hands up to his face, trying to force their eyes to meet. "Look at me."

Tony complied, lifting his face, opening his eyes on Bruce. Beautiful Bruce. Fuck. He was a selfish man to be surrounded by so many beautiful things and appreciate them so little.

Bruce ran his thumb across his cheek. "What's wrong?"

"I'm not –" he swallowed, took a breath and exhaled slowly "– I'm not afraid of dying."

He wasn't. He couldn't be who he was if he was. He flew around in a metal suit – into warzones, falling buildings, straight to space for fucks sake. He wasn't afraid of dying.

"Then what is it?" Bruce asked, eyes searching, earnest, trying to figure it out, wanting to help but… there was no way to help. Tony was just so fucking embarrassed.

He buried his face back in Bruce's stomach, knowing Bruce wouldn't let him leave without the truth – not after catching him in the middle of a panic attack – but not able to look at him and admit it.

"I just," he whispered, taking a deep, shuddering breath, drawing Bruce closer, shutting his own eyes as if that could stop Bruce from looking at him. "What if – what if I'm a better person with an artificial heart?"

Bruce didn't say anything at first, just held him a little tighter. But then he was on one knee, looking into his eyes, smiling that cunning little grin he employed when he realized that he knew something really obvious that Tony had somehow overlooked. Tony hated that grin sometimes, but now? He really wanted Bruce to make him feel like an idiot.

"The _experience_ made you a better person," Bruce said, face serious, eyes dropping to the arc reactor. "But the experience isn't there." Then he looked back up at him as he tapped a finger to his temple. "It's _here_."

Then the smile was back, firm and confident and fuck if Tony didn't wish he could borrow some of that confidence.

"And you're the most brilliant man I know – a _genius_ , or so I'm told –" he teased and Tony couldn't help the way his lips twitched at the joke "– and that won't change tomorrow. You're a good person, Tony – but killing yourself for that thing…?"

"Point taken," Tony sighed, eyes falling to the floor in shame. If anyone understood what it was like, to have your whole life change in an instant, it was Bruce. And Tony knew he was right but…

"But it's okay to be scared," Bruce said softly and Tony looked back up at him, knowing he would be haunted for a long time by the brief glance he got at the sympathetic look in Bruce's eyes right before he kissed him.


	6. History

6: History

Bruce was sweaty and blissed out when he finally rolled off Tony and his back hit the sheets, wiping himself with them haphazardly. Tony was giggling, just flat out giggling, and it made Bruce smile all weird to hear it. The room was full of smoke, catching in the sunbeams, and it reminded him of college, in a good way. When he was finally free – for a moment, anyway.

They rarely smoked but then Tony didn't drink much anymore and when Pepper wasn't around sometimes they were wickedly irresponsible and stayed up finishing a project for a few days straight then spent the next day celebrating with sleep and sex and well – Tony insisted that if you weren't going to celebrate with champagne…

He reached for the pipe, jolting as Tony's fingers moved down his side.

"Don't tickle me," he warned and Tony was on him in an instant – draping himself across his chest, twisting his fingers through his curls, making it incredibly difficult to slide himself up into a sitting position to take a hit.

"But you're so serious." Tony's head was on his chest, his huge brown eyes staring up at him with an overabundance of unnecessary concern. "You're not supposed to be serious when you're high."

Bruce smiled. The smiles came easier when he was high though and he was pretty sure Tony knew that – pretty sure he understood.

He breathed in on the pipe, exhaled smoke, glassy eyes falling back down to Tony, running a hand down across his head, watching him purr under the attention. Tony was different after the surgery, a little more clingy, more physical, but a little more comfortable in his own skin, too. More open.

Then Tony was giggling again, pressing kisses to his chest and his neck and his face and his lips but it was shaky and ineffective because he couldn't stop laughing and Bruce couldn't stop smiling.

Tony was beautiful like this. Not that he wasn't beautiful when they weren't wrapped up in bed together but when he was uninhibited and happy? It was just so obvious, so easy. Bruce hadn't been around very many happy people in his life and the way Tony made him feel when he was like this was overwhelming.

"I think Nat has a crush on you," he finally said before bursting out into a fit of laughter all over again and Bruce blinked and choked out his own unexpected laugh.

"What?"

Tony met his eyes and they had that little gleam to them that was dangerous and he was nodding and smiling a very self-confident kind of smirk.

"She does. She thinks she can pull that super secret spy shit with me but I know," he said in his most conspiratorial tone and Bruce just rolled his eyes and shook his head.

It was impossible to imagine… that. But. Even if it was true it just –

"You are a very desireable man, Bruce," Tony told him, all serious, and Bruce didn't even have a chance to respond before Tony kissed him on the mouth, suddenly passionate, shifting to straddle him.

Usually pot numbed everything down for him but Tony? Tony pierced right through the fog and Bruce felt his emotions so acutely it was too much. He switched too fast and it left Bruce feeling dizzy, like he couldn't keep up.

He held the small of Tony's back with one hand, loved the feeling of it, grounding him. And he was half-hard and humming with it when Tony suddenly collapsed, tucking his face up against Bruce's neck and shrinking into him.

"You know you're free with me, right?" he asked before Bruce could ask anything, knuckles brushing against his collarbone, unfurling as Tony splayed his hand across his heart.

"I know," Bruce replied, kissing his head as he set the pipe down on the nightstand so that he could hold Tony better. "I know."

They never used the 'l' word between them. It was too much, too permanent – for them, for this – but it was there. In moments like this, in the things Tony did, in the things that he said – it was there. All of his life he questioned anyone who'd said it to him, watched them eventually turn away, reject him – but he never had to question Tony because he never said it. Bruce never had to question Tony because he could feel it.

"You've never called Betty."

Tony's voice sounded unescapably sad and Bruce couldn't fathom why. He'd never even met Betty. And Bruce rarely talked about her. It wasn't that he didn't miss her, didn't still want to be with her in some abstract way, it was just…

Life was different now. Unpredictable. And he was dangerous. And he didn't feel badly about that anymore, not really, being with Tony had… well, it had changed that. But it didn't change the truth.

"History doesn't need to repeat itself," he said after a moment, reaching for Tony's hand, lacing their fingers together and pressing the back of it to his mouth.

"You've been stuck in here a long time," Tony sighed and pressed his face a little closer into his neck.

Bruce understood, knew he had a history of running and yeah, sometimes he was a little restless, but it wasn't. It was just. Never in all his life had he felt so safe. He was sure, absolutely, that it would all fall apart in due time. But, while it lasted, he wanted to be selfish. He want to believe that it was still possible to choose something he wanted for himself, that it was possible to have even a short amount of happiness in his life. It seemed, with Tony, it was so easy to be deluded. Because history always repeated itself, whether he wanted it to or not.

But Tony didn't need that kind of confirmation, and Bruce didn't really wanted to think about it anyway. So he just held on to Tony while he could and chose to be happy while he still could.

"I haven't been," he answered, kissing across Tony's knuckles. "Because I'm free."


	7. Handwritten

7: Handwritten  
(inspired by the song _Photograph_ by Ed Sheeran)

There was a folded piece of paper in Tony's back pocket. Living in a pocket for the better part of a year wasn't easy on a piece of printer paper. It had been battered and bruised, rumpled, folded and refolded until the edges were faded and soft but it didn't matter. Tony knew there was a digital copy somewhere, he was sure of it, but this one was special.

He took it out now, fingers sliding over the soft, worn down paper, fingering it the way he had so many times before. Once, twice – he unfolded it carefully, the creases so deep the paper was only held together by threads – and there it was, ink fading but then memories didn't.

Tony hadn't know Pepper was taking the picture – it was relatively low quality, off a cellphone – and clearly Bruce hadn't known either. The composition was actually remarkably decent given Pepper's general lack of skill when it came to creative pursuits like photography. Though the odds were in her favor as it was taken in the bedroom of the tower penthouse, which Pepper had styled to be light and airy and white with plenty of natural light streaming through floor to ceiling windows.

Tony remembered that morning vaguely – or maybe he didn't, just a series of mornings like that, but it didn't really matter. He was laying in bed with Bruce. Pepper had gotten up early to get ready for a meeting, the way she always did, leaving them to their own devices – which more often than not entailed dozing off until she came back to tell them goodbye.

That day, however, they were talking. And Tony was propped up on one elbow and Bruce was pressed back into those overlarge white pillows Pepper so adored. Bruce was smiling so serenely, his eyes soft as they looked towards him and Tony was reaching out for him, the backs of his fingers running along Bruce's jaw and cheek, and that was the thing about this photograph – it was so easy for him to feel that way, a way he hadn't felt for a year. Infatuated, enraptured.

Bruce was never meant to be a permanent fixture in their lives. Both he and Pepper knew it and though they couldn't help falling in love with him, each in their own way, they knew he was always going to be too scared and too cautious to make it work long term. And was okay with them, really, it was easier when it was just meant to be fun, when there were no expectations.

But when Tony fell, he fell hard, and for Tony, it was love at first sight. He never put that on Bruce, never wanted him to feel any sort of obligation, but sometimes he wished he could cut out the part of his heart that still loved him so much. Though he'd had enough experience with heart surgery to last him a lifetime and he figured, knowing him, he'd find a way to power it forever despite himself.

It was just, those last few months before they'd gotten so close to Loki's scepter, Tony really felt like everything was perfect. Bruce had just seemed so… he just seemed so _happy_. As enamoured as Tony had been with him since they'd met, watching him unfold had been enthralling. Now all he was left with was this piece of paper to remember but… But hold that moment in his hands and know it was true, that it was real. He could feel Bruce's lips beneath his, worn and thin like this single piece of paper but warm and real, too.

Tony sighed as he turned the paper over, Pepper's scrawling cursive across the upper left hand corner on a diagonal – "Tony and Bruce 2015" complete with a girlish little heart underneath for good measure. He could easily imagine the little smile on her face as she wrote it out, leaving the paper propped up against one of the antiquated old flatscreen monitors she insisted on having at her desk.

Beneath that and across the middle where the creases now intersected was Bruce's oddly looping print, poorly spaced from being so seldom used – "no pictures please" with a hard line added beneath the word please. It had puzzled him at first that Bruce didn't simply throw the picture away or shred it – it was certainly within his right. They had done a lot to protect Bruce's identity, to ensure his safety at the tower, and sentimental photographs proving his existence were a liability.

At first Tony figured that Bruce just couldn't throw away something that Pepper clearly loved. Bruce must've come across it in her office and he was sure it felt like a personal violation to take it from her desk. And for a while, he'd left it at that, but over time he wondered…

Maybe Bruce actually _wanted_ some little piece of him to be permanent somewhere. It was hard for Tony – he was photographed almost daily, pictures of him were on newsstands and televisions all over the world – but Bruce was nowhere, he was no one. Even within the tower his whole existence was designed to be not there as soon as he needed to be gone and maybe that was hard for him. Maybe he had held the picture over the trashcan and looked at it and realized he couldn't do it, couldn't just discard himself that easily when he had the proof in his hand that someone loved him, that someone cared.

Tony had plenty of time to think about that. Pepper had laid the picture next to his nightstand one night soon after it became apparent that Bruce wasn't coming back. He appreciated it, sure – it was the only tangible thing he had to remember Bruce by – but then sometimes it hurt him to look at. Why wouldn't Bruce want to come back to this? Wasn't he happy here? Didn't he know he could be happy again?

It had been months since Stark Industries drug the Quinjet out of the ocean and now a simple set of numbers stared back at him with a grainy satellite picture of a man matching Bruce's features on a small yawl. He'd had the coordinates for days but he had done nothing with them, only pulled out this picture and wished that past-Tony hadn't been asking past-Bruce some disgustingly romantic question about the equation of the slant of sunbeams and instead had the forethought to ask – if Tony found him, went to him, asked… would he want to come home?

Because the thing was, most days, Tony felt like a failure. He wondered about Pepper, about what the fuck they were doing, if he was any good for her at all or if she could even stand to love him another day. All he truly wanted, for Pepper, for Bruce, was to make them happy, whatever that took. And though his pride fucking _hated_ it, he was man enough to admit that maybe… maybe Bruce was happy, now. Maybe this whole thing – the tower, the lab, their late night brainstorming, being part of a team, and even, god, _fuck_ , Tony himself – was too stressful for him, too much. Maybe that's why he hadn't come back yet. Maybe…

But there was the picture, there was his smile. Sure, there was the fact it still existed at all, his handwriting and the proof that he allowed it to exist. Maybe there were creases down the middle and the pressure of pen strokes on the back was still visible across their faces even after all this time but that was the thing about beautiful memories – the damaged parts never seemed like they were there at all. And some stupid, selfish part of Tony thought – maybe Bruce just didn't know how to say it. Maybe he just got lost in his lack of existence and maybe, _hopefully_ he just needed Tony to tell him it was _okay_ to be permanent.

Tony had made his fair share of mistakes and maybe this was just another in a long line but, as he picked up a pen and wrote the coordinates on the back of their photograph, right beneath Bruce's own handwriting – this didn't really feel like it was one.


End file.
